


The Devout

by flannelcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelcastiel/pseuds/flannelcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The morning star rose from his shambles and cried out to his children, ’I will finally claw into the heavens and scourge the Host itself; I will raise my throne above the stars of the fallen and disparaged Father; I will sit enthroned on the mount of All, on the utmost heights of Mount Zaphon. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.’</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 1am, because the idea was keeping me awake. 
> 
> Imagine Abaddon being one of the first souls Lucifer twisted into a demon before Michael cast him into the cage. She waited and waited, only to miss her solemn opportunity to bow at her creators feet. She must have him again. She will have him, and he her.

_The morning star rose from his shambles and cried out to his children, ’I will finally claw into the heavens and scourge the Host itself; I will raise my throne above the stars of the fallen and disparaged Father; I will sit enthroned on the mount of All, on the utmost heights of Mount Zaphon. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.’_

Her ear is pressed to the whispers of hell, to every unhinged jaw and burning tongue, listening to all that has come to pass in the years her being has been displaced. A sob of rage hitches in her throat as she learns that her Worshipped, her King, had laid a most Unholy foot upon the soiled earth and conquered, and took, and even found that sacred vessel He had whispered to her about through the cracks of his cage. For it was her duty to lead the final assault  to steal the Sacred Child from his crib and raise him pacified with the Truth that Lucfier had to offer. And then it was her  _pleasure_ to slaughter that child’s rival, the one who would bear the mark of the Betrayer, Michael. The one who squandered her King’s grace and boxed Him in a cage suit for a dirty human soul, if they weren’t all stained with the must of Creation.

She barrels through hell, calling upon the pits of shattered grace Lucifer mixed with her decrepit, warped soul to bring her to the depths, the depths which no Demon dared to pass. She prays His name, for her Father walked the soil, for Lillith had fulfilled her duty once and broke the seals and unlocked the cage; all was possible if He had simply walked.  _Have faith,_ He had once told her in the softest of whispers, earned by none else than His faithful Knight.

Flames licks at the void, the matter of her being, as she barreled against the cage. She cries for Him, for there is no one else to fill her desire. Her only dream was to walk next to Him for the first time in too many years. To witness the flutter of charred yet powerful wings lush against the flames and satiate her deep need to follow. She calls his name, and He hears; He reaches for her and she reaches back, but the barrier which always was remains, and the wall causes pain to shatter through what’s left of her conciousness. Too much, it is too much, to be this close to the cage.

 _Soon,_ she hears muttered through the cracks. If she is capable of such a feeling, she is hopeful.

—.—

Her patience is rewarded when Heaven shuts and all angels fall and the caves of Hell are allowed to open wide. There is havoc and there is mayhem and it is beautiful; Hell on earth might as well be paradise. Abaddon can near feel the millions of souls being dragged to heaven when the Reapers cannot get to them fast enough.

Though none are attentive as her. Even a Knight of Hell is selfless when her King calls for her. And she comes. The cage is strong, and its magic resounds stronger with the will of Man than the will of Heaven, and this is why the locks do not break. But the cage was never meant to hold two archangels, so it is bound to rupture. When Michael’s grace implodes and is called back to Heaven, with it the seals finally unhinged on their own and it is blinding. Lucifer’s grace reminds bright, her morning star and meaning, because he was cast from Heaven bound to it like a meteor. She wishes she remembered it, had been one angel to fall beside Him, anything to be His most loyal. She crumbles to her knees as the hinges fly, and Abaddon fears to look into the eyes of the one who anointed her Knight before man even created time. She does, though, too overcome by need to do anything else but stare into the array of his celestial being. A true angel, twisted and rotted but completely beautiful.

She says His name and it is a whisper; He asks her to speak louder. “My King, my King, Lucifer,” she cries and looks up, His being so large and expansive that he could smother the flame of her existence with a mere breath. He does not. His form smells of a human, as the light dies and collapses but does not quite disappear. He has a vessel, but does not ask of its origin. Abaddon only crawls to him and presses her red, human lips to his feet. “I am sorry I was not here before, to slay by your side, as I was oathed to do,” she tells Him. She almost prays for Him to kill her, before she can feel the complete lash of shame. “Henry Winchester—”

“Hush, child,” He coos softly, and Abaddon shudders. “I know of all your troubles, and I mourned your absence. Azazel was an ill-fit replacement for my most precious creation. Rise.” She obeys and keeps her chin low in respect. Smooth hands grace her face, run down her cheek and to her lips. She willingly obliges and falters when he runs His finger across the bridge of her teeth. She bites down and tastes blood, deliciously rustic and human yet incredibly pure, and his fingers remain as he allows her to suck the wound until his vessel heals itself. “Good,” he praises.

“Am I forgiven for not being by your side?” she asks.

“Forgiveness is earned, Abaddon, not given,” Lucifer replies. “And you shall earn your place by my side, as my Queen. But first,” He cuts short and puts a hand to the crook of her shoulder, and pushes her down. She willing falls and gropes at his thighs unintentionally, a human instinct that she smothers with a feral growl. First you shall learn your place—on your knees.”

There is relief when she understands his request and slides her slender hands between his legs, and is reminded of the only thing good that God created— _desire._ “As you command it, my King.”


	2. The adored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are my Savior and my Truth, my Lord and the only one who I shall ever kneel before," she swears with every sincere fiber of her being. Demons are deceptive things, but Lucifer never lies. His truth grounds her and then raises her above all else. "And I  _love_ you, as you once asked us to do, above, and I will always be your faithful... _servant."_

_How much she hath glorified herself, and lived deliciously, so much torment and sorrow give her: for she saith in her heart, I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow._

Revelation 18:7

Hell dripped with ice as it should, and that cool breath of His thusly breached the walls of Perdition and infected the earth, so as it was written. Faithful and unwavering, she stands by Him and quivers at the sights she beholds, so beautiful and calamitous; it is thrilling to know that a brush of slender fingers against her porcelain cheek would be her complete end, but she would be glad to kneel before Him and take His wrath, for it is her duty to obey His will without question. To follow Him to the end of times, the end of humanity was her pleasure; to break beneath His almighty grace would be her greatest and darkest desire.

And desire is putridly vivid in her current form. She registers that her Master's form His lithe and young, and it is sometimes too much not to whimper like a child when He asks for her lips to service Him. Her human vices invoke want, need, but the soldier that bleeds for Him and slaughters in His name desires those sensations to dissolve in order not to distract. And she tries not to envision His shameful wrath if she succumbed to them.

The earth was delightfully dark one night as Abaddon kneeled by the feet of her King, as they stared over a city of screams and muted sirens.  He ignores the other demons around, who defiantly  _stand_ behind Him. They are the reason Lucifer will be the end of demons, because they have no discipline. Abaddon is a demon, but she is different, and that is why she is His only Knight; she was a winged one too. She was breath and she was light, only surpassed by the Morning Star, her most loved in Heaven. And when they scowled upon the earth and the dirty things that the Lord has ordered them to love, they conspired, yes, and they planned. It was Him that took the blow and was barreled into the earth while His loyal watched from above and cried for their brother. And then they were forced to swear allegiance to the Host of heaven and surrender a piece of their grace to lock Lucifer away. Abaddon, and others, refused. Instead they stood on the edge of clouds, between the world and the nothingness--Heaven--and tore out their grace. They fell like a murder of crows and swept the stars from the sky as they fell like comets. They cried out to join their brother, but humanity became their destines instead. Abaddon was among the few who remembered her nature, and the only one who embraced it fully. She hated what she became and murdered, spilled the blood of God's favored race that had led to His fall and her fall and a split in Heaven, her home.

All her impassioned rage paid off when she fell upon the rack of Lilith herself, and Abaddon cried for her human soul to be sliced and dissected from her being, the dirty  _rubble_ of God's will, and Lilith did. Nothing was left except the knowledge that she was once an angel, and now she was a pure demon without a drop of human to the fibers of her consciousness. And she dared to go as close to that cage as she could and listen to her King's whispers, and He praised her. The words, so sweet and honest, brushed her mind and it was something like a kiss, in the metaphysical sense. She had been faithful to Him, even as a human, and for that she would be named Knight. His Knight.

And now, as the world burns with a bright and beautiful fury, He praises her once more. "You did well, Abaddon."

"Thank you, my Lord," she says quickly, quietly as she dares to look up. His hand is coming towards her, and it is her dream and her nightmare, His touch. He clasps her jaw with appropriate roughness and she does not resist as His callused tips graze her eyelids. His grace pulses through and Abaddon can almost see the blackened talons, remnants of His angelic being. He scratches her and His fingers capture the long drip of blood before it heels, and then presses it to her lips. Again, His fingers are in her mouth and she sucks gratefully at the intrusion. Who else gets to feel Him as she does, at this moment?

"I truly believe this war would have been long ago won, if you were here to... service me," He muses as He pushes His fingers deeper, and it takes a moment for Abaddon to not let human instinct take over and gag. Though she does not gag, a light moan rises from her heated stomach, which causes Lucifer to pull away altogether. Her eyes flash open, an apologetic plea heavy in them, but He is already looking toward the other demons. "It is the Winchesters who are responsible. Find them and kill them; actually, bring Sam Winchester to me so I might teach Him that none shall--shall  _manipulate_ the original Manipulator!" He is roaring, and He is angry, and it is beautiful. Abaddon rises from her knees to follow them, but Lucifer says her name. It is rough, merciless, and thick.

"Yes Master," she says bleakly and considers falling to her knees again, but does not have the chance when Lucifer has her by the throat.

 _"Temptress,"_ He growls and Abaddon smiles in delight.

"I--I am but of the mold of our Heavenly Father," He chokes out with forced breaths, but does not fight His constriction. She is teasing Him and amused rage burns in His eyes. They are a vivid green, and Abaddon grins. Like Dean Winchester's, pretty and green. Was His vessel of relation to Him?

"We are forced to take vessels to walk the earth, to have  _power,_ but--never have I felt more weak." Lucifer releases His hold, and Abaddon falls gracefully back to the ground. She does not kneel but she places her manicured hands on His chest and slides them down to His stomach, to His hips.

"If I weaken you, my King, then kill me," she says with a smirk.

"Is that a request?" He questions tersely.

"I want what you want, and whatever you ask I shall oblige. You are my existence, now that I can walk by you once more," she explains in a long breath, exasperated and desperate to please Him.

"I do not want you dead."

"Then lock me away," Abaddon amends, and her fingers are hooked into the waist of His vessel's trousers, and pulls herself close to Him. Their hips are flush and she closes her eyes, ready to be smited for defiling her King. "Lock me up  _tight,_ so I can tempt you no longer."

"Your vessel is regrettably too beautiful to do anything of the sort," Lucifer sighs, not angry at all, and His hands settle at her hips. Abaddon's resolve breaks and she succumbs to her racing pulse, biting her lower lip as He bend to her. His lips find her ear, breath bitterly cold and her whole body swells with need. "You wear her well, Abaddon." She shudders a sigh when His lips envelop her earlobe and bite down, sucking hard as she suppresses a moan.

His teeth graze down her jaw, and down her neck, and find the seam, the scar, from when she was beheaded. She makes embarrassingly pathetic noises when His tongue roughly traces that scar and seems to try to split it, but He does not. His lips flush against her neck and He begins to suck, surely so that a bruise would form. She hopes it will not heal. For Lucifer to mark her so intimately--she would never want to forget.

Abaddon wills herself to not be completely useless as His mouth assaults her neck and jaw; her hands lift the hem of His shirt and scratch up His stomach and chest. He hisses and bites her neck, and she laughs maliciously at the sensation. He continues His ministrations so she must be doing something right, and this she feels a swell of pride.

"Who am I?" He growls into her scarred skin. She regards His chest, now stripped bare of the thin fabric, with absolute adoration. She becomes unbelievably soft as her eyes gracefully take in Him. She sees past His vessel and the skin and flesh, to the magnificent being that He is. He is a reigning comet of the skies, to which all celestial bodies bow and waver. He crushes the mountains with His words and the seas recede when He breathes. He is King, and this is the only truth she knows and need knows.

"You are my Savior and my Truth, my Lord and the only one who I shall ever kneel before," she swears with every sincere fiber of her being. Demons are deceptive things, but Lucifer never lies. His truth grounds her and then raises her above all else. "And I  _love_ you, as you once asked us to do, above, and I will always be your faithful... _servant."_

 _"_ A demon who loves," He murmurs as He regards her.

"A fallen angel who adores her Morning Star," Abaddon amends and presses forward, locking her lips against His. He squeezes her shoulders and they are gone, pulled away with the lift of His translucent wings. She gasps at a sensation that she has not felt in a few millennia, flying, but it ceases as soon as it begins and they are in a dimly lit room. Abaddon pulls back and looks around. It is His chamber. There is a large altar in the center, and a bed against a back wall under a complex sigil that Abaddon recognizes.  _Forbidden_ it writes, and that is a crude translation at best. She knows it wards against demons, at least around the perimeter of the room. Lucifer granted her passage by taking her beneath His wings. Smuggled past an unbreakable barrier, she thinks with a cruel smile. She has always been privileged but never an exception to any of His rules.

She crumbles to Him.

"Lucifer, please, let me serve you in all the way your vessel desires," she breathes, heavy with need. Her fingers clawed at the clasp of His jeaned trousers, and the sound of the zipper snapping under an ungentle touch was deafening. "You have been too good to me, let me reciprocate."

His pants fall down to His ankles, and Abaddon mouthed at the bulge beneath His underwear.  This is pure habit, nothing new, as His need responds to her generous touch, light suction and teething through the fabric. What she does not anticipate is His fingers weaving into her hair, nestling into the roots and pulling her deeper into the V of His pelvis.

"You already do," He murmurs, breathing shallowly. "You are the best of them, and none shall kneel where you kneel, touch as--" His breath hitches as Abaddon tongues His swollen need. " _touch._ Because you love me."

"I adore you," she whispers, and she fears the declaration is lost in her moan. He unweaves His fingers and grasps her by the base of her neck and forced His mouth to hers again, swallowing her whole with an heated kiss that burns her in ways she'd forgotten she could burn. It is searing, yet cold as Him, and the dichotomy splits her so joyously that she cannot help but laugh fully.

"Lay down," He tells her between breaths, and there is no mistaking the demanding tone; its bitterness goes through Abaddon like a beautiful infection, seeping into her vessel's marrow and blood and filling the space between her legs.

Abaddon obliges, sprawling her limbs out and raising her hips, an offering, a sacrifice to her King. She wishes that He will take her, fill her and  _use_ her, because that is all she truly has to offer.

Pushing forward, His knees press against the bed as He crawls upon the mattress. In sinks, giving to His weight, and He settle between Abaddon's legs with a hungry curl to His lips. He grabs her thighs suddenly and roughly, kneading His palms into them in order to spread her legs wider. She smiles gratefully and leans back, closing her eyes and ready to surrender, something she is unaccustomed to. In her many vessels over centuries, she has experienced sexual pleasure, but has never wanted the connection that could be made. It was incredibly human, she realizes, but then perhaps this was one connection that was mutually anointed to angels and humans. Two angels, fallen, perhaps could make the link that two humans would when their bodies become one. When Lucifer's chin pushes up the hem of her shirt, His lips subsequently sucking at her naval, her thoughts are silenced. 

Her body is pleading, but she dare not vocalize that. She is here to serve Him and Him alone; she can only pray that He will grace her with some form of relief. His tongue darts past His lips at her hip, and then His teeth latch to the skin as He sucks.  _Yes,_ she breathes soundlessly, and tries not to wriggle, but His mouth is so  _hot._

 _"Speak,"_ He commands, and the sound reverberates against her skin.

"What do you want me to say?" As she leans up to meet His eyes, He lurches over her so that their faces are only centimeters apart.

His brows raise expectantly. "I want you to be honest with me Abaddon. That is all I ask for, and you give me so much more." He reaches His hand to her cheek and cradles it far too gently.

"You are my Master," she whispers to Him. "I want to serve you."

"That is all you have ever done," He sighs. "You have served me since you fell, since you offered your soul to the fire just so we... could be together." He smiles, and it is chilling, and their eyes are locked and could not break. "When you spoke to me and asked me for direction, I heard you and I heard how fiercely you would preserve my memory. I felt the others lose faith, and you were among the few who did not--could not. Because--" His smile deepens and drips with something that could be fire or could be ice, or both, but either way it seared her skin without touch. "Because you love me." He says it like it is the simplest thing ever said, but the truth beneath runs deeper than words can fathom.

"Now let me repay you," Lucifer breathed and pushed His lips to the dip of her chest, licking down. His hands were at her sides and savagely pushes her shirt and it’s off in seconds. The exposure of her breasts is a shock, but feverishly warm lips enveloping them, one by one--an assault--changes that quickly.

She mewls as His mouth graces every inch of her, as if she is an idol of worship, and she tries to grasp why He is the one between her legs and why He is igniting all of her senses. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she slipped into the arms of pure light and power, fell upon Fields of Asphodel with nothing inhibited. And He whispers to her, words without reproach and flowing with the righteousness which was her Daybreak and Twilight, her King and Master. She is alone no longer, for her life begun anew the moment the cage shattered and released His Hell and His fury upon the earth. And He promises her that they shall seize what their father denied, together, with no bent knees and with merciless dedication. The one who appointed her Knight, with a simple amendment, gave her a crown crafted from His own trust, for He said that every King needs a Queen to perform His will without doubt. 

Perhaps she had been His Queen all along.


End file.
